


Worth It

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, I'm really sorry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 21:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All this time, Grantaire's stayed for just one reason. And for a long time, the reason didn't even know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth It

Grantaire was utterly, hopelessly, completely in love with Enjolras. 

And that would have been fine. If only Enjolras loved-or even anything above tolerated- the man in return. 

Grantaire knew what he was getting into when he joined the cause. He knew there was little chance of him surviving. He didn’t care about any of this; what would happen for politics if they succeeded, if they failed. He knew that things would never change, as much as his friends and leader thought. It would always be the same, and no group of young students could change that. 

Yet he stayed, because he was in love. 

It hurt, of course. Every day he lived alone was like a dagger in him. So he turned to his alcohol, his jest and jokes and sleepless nights when he’d paint his feelings. He’d painted Enjolras more time than he cares to count, and all the portraits of him reside behind a false wall in his closet, untouched, unknown. He was working on another one of their leader when the barricade went up, and the masterpiece had to sit, almost finished. Grantaire was inwardly sad. It would’ve been his best work yet. He was just beginning to understand Enjolras’ eyes. 

And then, all at once, it happened. His friends were dying all around him, and he was rushing in and out of buildings, up and down stairs, to find the only person he’d ever learned to care for. 

He’s bloodied, surrounded by uniformed men holding guns, but he’s there. He looks up, and the hope flickering in his eyes ignites. 

He stands for a moment, as if contemplating what his next move would be. He doesn’t have to, though. He knew what he’d do a long time ago. 

He steps past the men pointing pistols and stands up straight, glancing between the men and Enjolras. 

And Enjolras may not have liked him. He may have hated him, even. But the look of gratitude Enjolras gives him is enough to make every insult diminish in his head. Without a word, Enjolras takes one of Grantaire’s hands in his own. WIth his other, he raises the red banner. His eyes never leave Grantaire’s, and they exchange a small smile.

Grantaire assumes it happens to Enjolras just a microsecond before it happens to him, because he sees it. He sees the hope and bravery and heroism flash before Enjolras’ eyes. The eyes that Grantaire could never quite place the color of. The one thing he struggled with in his paintings. 

He suddenly understands them, now. But it’s too late, clearly. 

As he watches his love’s eyes go dead, it happens, and he imagines that his eyes look nothing like Enjolras’. They probably look tired, tormented. He wonders how his problems became so clear to him so suddenly. Every minute of this, every sleepless night he spent drinking and planning and hoping, was worth it. 

Every single second. 

Worth just one.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this is as good as I think it is! What do you all think?


End file.
